


Stardust

by softsocks (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dark Thoughts, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Helpful/Caring!Phil, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecurity, M/M, Melancholy!Dan, Metaphors, Stars, philosophical musings, possible triggers, reflections, slight depression, the universe - Freeform, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softsocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in the universe came from stars, and eventually we are all bound to return to what we used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you've read the tags for warnings of triggers.

Dan gets into these little spirals of thoughts, every now and then.

Sometimes, when he's thinking too much - which does in all honesty happen often, more than he would like - he goes off on a weird tangent, drowning in philosophical thoughts and theories.

When that happens, he enters the dangerous territory that is an existential crisis, pondering the importance of life in the grander scheme of the universe. Other times, if he's lucky, his mind just wonders about the beauty and miracle of the human existence, of _his_ existence, how incredible it is that the human race is even alive after so many centuries, surviving longer than dinosaurs and billions of other creatures.

He often finds himself in mind-blowing awe, amazed at how a bunch of atoms, particles too small for the naked eye to see, are able to form creatures and objects a thousand times bigger than they are, always moving, always becoming something. And how, in turn, people do incredibe things, evolving technology and medicine and creating a wonderful life for themselves and others around them.

He loved talking about atoms in science, because it astounded him that nothing in the universe was ever destroyed, only changed it's form to exist as something else. That even exctinct dinosaurs were floating around in petrol and oil, and when someone dies, their particles change to form something new, so nothing was wasted.

He loved that humans were made of stardust, and had the potential to be returned to the universe. He also had a soft spot for evolution, and the ability to adapt to survive, instead of just giving up when life got too hard.

Dan only wished he had that ability too.

Because that's the other, more unfortunate tangent that he more times than not finds himself following.

Much like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, Dan finds himself thinking about something, like a flaw he doesn't want to have or a feature of his body that he doesn't like - and then without any notice he's tripping, stumbling, plummeting down a tunnel of thoughts until he eventually crashes.

It's a really, really _bad_ thing once he crashes.

Because then he starts _focusing_ on every little, miniscule detail. He berates himself for every flaw, every problem that he has with himself, every mistake he's ever made.

It shocks Dan when he _really_ realises it, but he's _broken_. He's truly broken _, shattered_ even, and that scares him.

He doesn't know how to fix himself, how to put all the pieces back together well enough to guarantee that he won't just fall apart again.

And that scares him.

He doesn't want to go back to the way his life _used_ to be. He hates his past-self, hates how horrible he felt, how alone, how downtrodden and _hopeless._

He doesn't want to ache for the burn, the way too familiar sensation of cool metal across warm skin, the searing pain that shouldn't feel as good or as satisfying as it does.

He'd been addicted to the sharp sting, the instant sweet relief, all pain and thoughts centered immediately. Now, though, he _aches_ for it, and he _hates_ that he does, hates that he's so weak. He wants to be able to just push all the thoughts down and pretend they don't exist _but he can't_.

It's then, when those thoughts anchor themselves in their mind, he understands how _well and truly fucked up_ he is, that the tears start to fall.

They're hot and salty, and they fall fast and without care.

An hour later, the tears have finally stopped, and his eyes are red, and puffy, and his cheeks feel sticky. He doesn't feel any better though, instead he feels worse.

He's still broken, he's still flawed, but now he's also _empty_ and _drained_ , and he feels powerless.

So he crawls into bed, after making sure all the lights are off and the curtains are drawn, and he just wraps himself in his covers and his duvet, and he curls up into a tight ball.

He doesn't cry, he doesn't have any tears left so he just lies there and _exists_.

His phone is in it's dock, and he can hear the soft, near-quiet strains of Matt Bellamy's voice, and it slowly lulls him to sleep.

* * *

It's properly dark outside when he wakes up, so he just stares into the darkness for a few seconds. He doesn't feel any different, but instead of wallowing in his own self-pity he turns his lamp on, and digs through the bottom drawer of his nightstand.

Underneath some pajama pants and shirts, and a stashed family-sized pack of chocolates (for emergencies) - he grabs that because this is definitely an emergency - he finally finds what he was initially looking for.

It's a letter from Phil, a hand-written note on lined notepaper. The paper is scrunched and creased from being folded and unfolded, and then folded and unfolded some more. Phil had written it for him when he had been going through one of his really bad patches, back when skype calls weren't enough to halt the tears and Phil couldn't really comfort him through a computer screen. .

It wasn't anything much, not a wide variation of words that Phil hadn't said to Dan before. But it was the sentiment behind it, the reminder to Dan that Phil _did_ like him, and did love him. That Dan wasn't as horrible of a person as he thought he was. Because Phil knew, stll does know, that Dan sometimes needs a little confirmation.

Dan re-reads the letter, and he smiles softly. He's happier now, not as upset anymore and it's all thanks to Phil.

"Hey Dan, love, are you in your room?"

Dan looks at the door, contemplating hiding the letter, but he doesn't make the decision fast enough because Phil's already in Dan's room.

"Hey, I was just going to see if you ... what's that?" Phil asks, stepping closer to Dan's bed.

"It's ... it's nothing." Dan says, hurriedly trying to come up with some way to hide the letter.

"Is that the letter I wrote for you?" Phil asks curiously.

"Yeah," Dan says sheepishly.

Phil nudges Dan, who moves over a little, and then climbs into the bed beside him. Phil's arm wraps around Dan's waist and Dan leans into the touch, into Phil.

"Is everything okay up there?" Phil asks, tapping Dan's forehead lightly.

He knows how Dan gets, knows that sometimes he gets stuck. He also knows that sometimes Dan needs little reminders, and that's okay.

"Yeah ... yeah. It is now. There was a small rough patch earlier, but everything's okay now."

Phil doesn't look very convinced, so Dan lays his head on Phil's shoulder. Phil kisses the top of Dan's head, a force of habit more than anything. Dan slips his hand into Phil's, and squeezes it gently.

"I'm okay, Phil, I promise. Your letter helped, and I napped a bit too. It's just a little dark patch, that's all."

"I'm just worried about you." Phil mumbles.

"I know. But I'm okay."

They don't say anything more, they just sit there, content in the quiet. Dan ponders, but he doesn't think too deeply.

Because he's still a little broken, still a bit chipped around the edges, and although he's okay at the moment, he knows that it won't last forever. The dark thoughts are going to come back, and so will the tears that make him feel so weak.

But he knows that he always has Phil, and Phil always knows just what to say and when not to say anything at all, when to just hug Dan and kiss him and provide the comfort that Dan needs. He knows that he'll be okay, one day, and he knows he has Phil to thank for all of that.

Dan likes that there was a time where everything was just gas and dust and miniscule particles.

He's pretty certain that the case is a little different with Phil, though. He thinks that Phil used to be more than just stardust. He thinks that Phil was once the biggest, brightest star in the Milky Way, and he still has some pieces of the universe inside of him.

One day they'll all become a piece of the galaxy again.

And Phil will return to his star form.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this. I wrote it a fair while ago, and have only recently edited and fixed it. I've always liked the idea of space and how energy never ends it just changes, though, and I enjoyed exploring that.


End file.
